“Well, what do you want?” asked the woman, in a sharp tone, as she saw Tom.
“I wish to see Dr. Spidderkins.”
“Well, you can’t. He’s busy.”
“But this is very important.”
“I can’t help it. You can give me the message, and I’ll tell him when I get a chance.”
“I am sorry, but I can’t do that,” said Tom firmly. “What I have to say is for the doctor personally.” Then he had an idea. Raising his voice, so it would penetrate down the long hall to the doctor’s private library, the boy said: “If I can’t see Dr. Spidderkins now, I’ll wait here until I can.”
He fairly shouted the doctor’s name.
“Look here, you young rapscallion,” exclaimed the woman, “do you think I’m deaf?”
“I didn’t know,” replied Tom, innocently, in his ordinary tones. “I thought maybe you were.”
But he had accomplished what he desired, for the doctor, hearing his name called, had roused himself long enough from poring over his books to emerge from his room. He came toward the front door.